


What's Yours is Mine

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, Intersex, M/M, Piercings, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian is third in line to inherit his father's kingdom, behind his brothers Jason and Dick, and is not at all pleased to find out that he's been sold into an arranged marriage with the heir of a local, powerful family. Not that it comes as a surprise, but he's certainly not looking forward to meeting his intended. At least until it's a pale-skinned, black-haired, blue-eyed beauty with a sharp smile. Then, well, maybe he can give it a chance after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! So, awhile back I got an anonymous request from that 'I wish you would write a story where...' thing, asking for something where TimDami was the main couple. Now, I know that I've written other things with TimDami, but I hadn't written something specifically for that prompt, and I finally got around it. Hey there, anon! This probably isn't even _remotely_ what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Frankly, the plot twist in this is probably really, really obvious, but I wasn't trying to be subtle. XD

"Damian."

His brothers slip out of the room, Jason nudging ahead of Dick as he nearly always does, as he stops and turns back towards their father. _His_ father, anyway; both his brothers are related by name, but not blood. Not that he blames his father for that, exactly. His father didn't even know of his existence until he was nearly ten, so finding other heirs was hardly something that he can criticize.

"Yes, Father?" he asks, standing on the other side of his father's desk.

His father stands, circling the desk to stand in front of him. He stands a little straighter at the look that his father is giving him, reading the gravity in the way his eyes are slightly narrowed, and entirely serious. It worries him just a touch; usually when his father looks at him like this, he's done something wrong or worthy of some kind of punishment. It hasn't been all that long, honestly, since the last time he was underneath that expression, but there's something different about this one that he can't quite put his finger on.

Also, generally, his father doesn't wait until they have the room to themselves before handing out discipline or reminding him that his behavior is unacceptable in one way or another. Jason gets reminders just as often, though for different reasons, so he's positive that the public — at least in their family — part of it is not just for him.

"There's something we need to discuss. Sit back down, please." The 'please' comes as an afterthought, but he's used to that.

He steps back to sit in one of the mostly ornamental wooden chairs, the ones with the rigid wooden backs that force their occupants to either sit perfectly straight or slouch painfully forward. He honestly believes that his father picked these purely to try and deal with Dick and Jason's bad postures; it does seem to have had at least some positive effect over the years. _He_ never needed it, of course.

His father sits on the edge of the desk, hands loosely gripping its edge and still looking entirely serious. He seems to be considering his words, which does not bode all that well, but Damian carefully restrains himself before he goes off into worst case scenarios. He can't quite stop himself from running through his actions over the past few weeks — since the last of these 'family' meetings — to see if he remembers doing anything bad enough that his father would actually want to criticize him for it privately. The fact that he can't is not as reassuring as it should be.

"Just spit it out, Father," he finally says, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively. "Unless you or one of those _morons_ is dying, I am positive I can handle whatever you are so unwilling to say."

" _Damian_ ," his father reprimands, and then gives a small sigh. "I was approached with an offer for an alliance a week ago, and two days ago I accepted. Part of the agreement was an arranged marriage, their heir to one of mine, and you were requested specifically. I agreed."

"You've sold me off," he rephrases, and then _does_ cross his arms. "Very well; I cannot say that I am particularly surprised you would seek to wed off your only blood-son, when you have two other heirs with less stable claims to your position." His father frowns, mouth opening to either defend Jason and Dick or to reassure him of his own place but he does not particularly _care_. "So who is it, Father? What kingdom did you sell me to in exchange for their allegiance?"

The frown deepens, before his father admits, "It's not a kingdom, it's a family. Drake."

He freezes for a moment, and then very carefully gets up from the chair to face his father on more even height. "A _family?_ You sold me to a single _family?_ Father, I am a _prince_." His hands clench, and he bares his teeth as he spits, "I expected to be wed off sooner or later but I thought you would do it with _respect_ , not merely to get me out of the way."

"That's not what this is, Damian." He scoffs, but his father straightens up off the desk to really look down at him. "They may not be rulers but the Drakes hold a lot of sway and a lot of wealth, they're a _powerful_ family. You marriage is to their son, the sole heir of all of it, which will give you a lot of control over that power. I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it was for your benefit, Damian. You know that."

"I know I am a threat to your older sons, and this is certainly to _your_ benefit. Do you expect me to be grateful to be removed from the running entirely, Father?"

His father frowns for just a moment, and then the expression slips away with a small shake of his head. "No. I know this isn't what you want, Damian, but trust me when I say that there are things at play here that you don't know yet. You don't have to like it, but this has already been agreed to and you will treat their son fairly."

His jaw clenches down for a moment, before he forces himself to at least physically relax. "As you wish, Father." Irritating, disrespectful, and callous, yes, but his father is still _King_ , and as King, the decision is his to make. If his father says he is to be married, he has no right to disagree and no say in who his intended is to be. That is simply the way things are.

"They're arriving this afternoon," his father says, "He'll stay, his parents will leave in the morning. You don't have to be there to greet them, but it would be preferable."

"I will strive not to _disappoint_ you," he snaps. "May I be excused, Father?"

The nod and gesture of one hand gives him his permission, and he turns on his heel the next second and stalks out of the room. It's tempting to slam the door behind him, but he doesn't.

* * *

The rest of the day passes in something of a haze. He beats his frustration into sparring partners and dummies for as long as he can manage — until his muscles scream — and then retires to the mercies of the servants, who apparently have been ordered to make him presentable for his introduction to his intended. That involves a long bath, and then being carefully dressed in some of the clothes which show him to his absolute best. Black leggings, some of his shinier court-boots, and a black tunic with his father's crest in silver on the back, held in by a belt at his waist.

He simply stays still and lets them work as they wish, trying to dispel the comparison of being paraded like some prize horse.

By the time his eldest brother slips inside his quarters he's been perfumed and ornamented like some kind of whore, and his temper is already worn thin. Seeing Dick does help reduce it some, as it always does. Dick's always been kind to him, even when he didn't give the same in return, and these days he appreciates that. It certainly was never required, nor even expected, and few heirs to large kingdoms are kind to the younger siblings that are true threats to their position.

Dick's smile is just a little bit sad, but it's clearly an emotion he's trying to keep hidden. "Hey there, little Prince. You ready?"

The servants retreat at a flick of his hand, as he turns towards his eldest brother. "Are they here?"

"Just hit the front gate a minute ago," Dick confirms.

"Then I suppose I am." He bites back both a sigh and the urge to straighten his already-straightened clothes, venting the energy by heading for his brother instead. Dick leads the way out, and he allows himself to walk at his brother's side and not try for a step ahead as he usually does.

"Sorry about this," Dick murmurs after a minute or so, with a concerned glance. "You know I didn't have anything to do with it, right?"

He does know, not that it makes the situation grate any less against his pride. "Did you know?" he asks, instead of reassuring his brother.

Dick winces, but shakes his head. "No, not until today. Neither did Jason."

"I bet _Todd_ is thrilled," he snaps, and gets an instant, sharp sound of chastisement from Dick.

"Don't call him that, Damian. You know better." Dick sighs, one hand rising to rub over his eyes. "And for your information, no, he's not. You should know that Jason never likes it when Bruce makes decisions like this, especially when he doesn't ask first."

"It is Father's right," he defends, with a small frown. "Whether I like it or not has nothing to do with it; he has always had the right to arrange a match between me and anyone he desired. I merely thought it would be someone more… titled."

"He's probably being careful." He glances over at Dick, not entirely understanding, and gets a small smile in return. "I might be the Crown Prince, but you're the one who's actually related to Bruce. If you were married to someone from another kingdom, and Bruce died unexpectedly… It's not a big leap to assume they'd back you as King instead of me; it could mean a war."

He actually falters a step, before making up the distance with a longer stride. "You know I would not contest you," he says softly, but insistently. "You have the right, even if you do not share blood."

"I know that," Dick confirms, equally as soft. "I'm just saying it's possible. If you're tied to a family that isn't large enough to be a true threat, Bruce doesn't have to worry about it. He trusts you, Dami; what he doesn't trust are the motivations of the people that would want you to be theirs."

He considers that for a moment, and then murmurs, "Father said that the Drakes were a very powerful family. Do you know anything about them?"

"I don't think I've ever met them," comes the answer, "but I've heard the name more than a few times. Let's see, there's uh, Jack and Janet; those are the parents. Jack married into the family and took their name; I don't know who he was before. Their son's name is Timothy, but I think he goes by Tim."

"Good to at least know the _name_ of my intended before the betrothal is sealed."

Dick reaches out, pressing a hand between his shoulders for a moment in silent comfort before retreating. "They're _very_ rich — probably more than us, frankly — but they don't get involved in politics all that much. Not that I know of, anyway. Bruce always sends invitations, but I don't think they've ever actually come to any of the events we throw. They're in this kingdom; outskirts, I'm pretty sure. Near the mountains."

"That isn't much information," he points out, trying not to sound like he's complaining. Dick only offers an apologetic smile and a shrug. "I suppose I will just have to wait and see who it is that Father has sold me off to."

"Look, Dami… If this doesn't work, and things are terrible, just know that Jason and I will back having it called off. Neither of us want to see you miserable for the rest of your life, little Prince."

He hesitates for a moment, and then dips his head just a touch. "It is not your call, but I appreciate it."

Dick smiles again as they turn down the final corridor to get to the throne room. "Of course. Oh, and Bruce also wanted me to remind you to be nice. First impressions and everything."

He rolls his eyes. "I am _aware_ of how to treat court guests; I do not require the reminder."

He reaches forward to push open the door, slipping ahead to enter the room a step before Dick. Dick, of course, lets him do it, just like he lets Jason precede him as well. A glance around the room shows only his father, Jason, and the two guards standing at the door. The rest of the court is absent, as are their guests. So far.

Dick closes the door as he strides forward towards his father and Jason, the latter of which looks more than a little irritated. His father looks a little bit worn, but still focuses on him as he approaches, even if it's with an edge that feels as though he's expecting to face down some level of hostility. Not surprising, considering Dick's apologies and Jason's obvious anger. The decision has obviously not been popular.

"Father," he greets, and then looks to his brother. "Jason."

Jason's arms are crossed, but he gets a stiff nod. "Damian. You good?"

"As I can be," he answers, keeping himself still.

Jason's mouth curls into a small sneer for a second, before forcibly flattening out. "Fair. Too bad _someone_ is a jackass and didn't _ask_ , huh?"

Dick smacks Jason's arm as he comes up. "Jason, stop it. You've made your point; let it go."

Jason grumbles but doesn't retaliate, and doesn't stop Dick from pulling him off to the side and a bit behind both their father and him. Putting them in the front makes the most sense, considering he's the one who's been promised, and of course his father has to be here because that's who the agreement is technically with. Dick and Jason are only here for the sake of respect.

He takes his spot beside his father, standing straight and still and doing his best to ignore the almost tangible feeling of Jason's anger at their backs. For all his attitude, Jason is viciously loyal and would never hurt them, he knows that. Just like the way that despite all of his concessions, when things are important Dick will plant his feet in the dirt and refuse to move for anyone or anything. A lot of people underestimate his eldest brother, not understanding that Dick is only a threat when he wants to be. Anyone who is truly either of his brothers' enemies would not survive long, no matter their rank.

"I appreciate you going along with this," his father murmurs, looking down the few inches in height that separate them. "It's been… suggested to me that I should have told you before today."

"You mean Jason shouted at you?" he mocks, and then glances up to meet his father's gaze. "It is your right, and it is not my place to refuse to accept what you have decided upon. I will trust that you have your reasons for doing this, even if you have not shared them with me."

His father gives a brief, very small smile, and then extends a hand to clasp his shoulder for a moment. "I do, Damian. I promise. You'll know soon enough."

There's a heavy knock on the door, and the hand falls away from his shoulder, his father straightening to stand utterly perfectly, and still. He clasps his hands together behind his back, mimicking the pose somewhat before glancing back to Dick and Jason. Dick has a smile already on his face, and Jason's expression has smoothed out to cool indifference, arms at his sides instead of crossed. He returns his attention to the door as the guards open it wide, admitting three people, one lagging a bit behind the other two. Once they're through, the guards push the door closed again, slipping through the crack before pulling it shut from the other side, leaving them alone with their new guests.

He holds himself back from any reaction, studying the approaching group. It's easy to match them to Dick's small amount of information. The tall woman at the head of the three, dressed in a dark blue gown with intricate silver designs, held in by a corset at her waist and flowing outwards around her legs — only allowing brief glimpses of the heeled traveling boots in a similar color with each step — must be Janet Drake. The slightly shorter man, in a much plainer set of dark grey clothing that's clearly meant to be suited to work for travel as well, must be Jack Drake. The third person, by process of elimination, must be his intended. Tim.

The name says that Tim must be male, but the clothing he's wearing is farther towards the feminine side. The light blue top he's wearing clings like a second skin, except where the sleeves flare out into a pattern of delicate silver lace and sheer, equally delicate fabric that falls in trains he's fairly sure loop behind the youngest Drake and connect. The leggings are a darker shade of blue, with an almost silver tint behind the fabric, and are tucked into black boots that come almost all the way up to Tim's knees, the leather shining despite the — he assumes — long trip. The outfit is complimented with a long silver necklace that he's nearly certain contains actual sapphires, and matching, long, silver and sapphire earrings.

By the time he's taken in his intended's _outfit_ , and finally raised his gaze to Tim's actual face, the Drakes are actually close enough to greet. His father is saying something, he's sure, but he's distracted by the sharp angles of his intended's face, the full lips, the light blue eyes behind dark lashes, and the medium-length black hair. Tim is shorter than him, smaller, thinner, and almost delicate looking, and it's a little strange after so much exposure to his brothers and father. Dick may be shorter than him now, by an inch or two, but his brother is still built thicker, and has always been physically stronger than him.

"Damian."

He jerks a bit, looking up at his father and meeting a raised eyebrow and an expectant look. He flushes, embarrassment flooding his chest.

"Sorry, Father, I— I was—”

"Distracted," his intended fills in, in a light, cool voice and through the hint of a smirk. "Understandable, I think."

Janet's smile is sharp, but definitely on the amused side, and he has to stop himself from wincing when there's a muffled snicker behind him. Undoubtedly Jason. His father gives a small sigh, and then presses a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Damian, these are the Drakes. Janet, Jack, and Timothy. Timothy is your intended, as I'm sure you already know."

"Please," Tim murmurs, with a smile, "it's just Tim." One hand rises, slipping past the layer of sheer fabric and lace to bare itself as it's offered to him. "A pleasure, Damian."

It occurs to him as he lifts his hand in response, that by the angle Tim's hand is at he's not expected to shake it. So he lightly takes his intended's hand instead, bending forward to press a small kiss to the back of the pale, slender hand. "The pleasure is mine," he answers, somehow remembering the protocols and societal expectations of this meeting.

His father's hand leaves his back as he straightens up, releasing Tim's hand probably just a moment too late. "So, I take it neither of you have any objections to this match?"

The question is aimed at Tim and him, and he glances up at his father for just a moment before shaking his head. "No, Father."

Tim's smile has that same sharp edge as his mother's, like it could slide into a smirk at a moment's notice. "Neither do I."

He'd thought he would agree simply because his father had the right to do this, and his opinion of it did not matter, but… but Tim is pretty, _captivating_ in a way he's not sure he's ever seen the match of, and yet despite the almost delicate appearance there's that _sharp_ edge that makes him think there is more to his intended than just appearance. If his _father_ believes their family is powerful, than there must be something beyond looks to them. No one gains power like that without having at least a bit of ruthlessness, or something similar.

Perhaps this will not be as torturous as he assumed it would be. Perhaps Tim will actually turn out to be an interesting partner.

"Good. Lady Drake, Lord?" His father's voice calls his attention, and he looks away from Tim to Janet instead, trying to regain some level of control over himself.

Janet reaches out, fingers ghosting over the back of her son's neck as that smile softens the slightest bit. "If my son has no objections, neither do we. Shall we make this official then, your majesty?" His father inclines his head a moment, and then Janet is holding something out, palm up. "As promised, we brought the rings."

Two rings are sitting on her palm, or at least he assumes they're rings. They're silver dragons, looped around in tight circles to fit over nearly the entire base section of a finger, with tucked in wings of _astonishing_ detail, covering the top of the finger almost like a shield. The eyes of the dragon are the same beautiful sapphires as Tim's jewelry.

"Damian," his father murmurs, prompting him forward.

He reaches up and takes one of the rings, as Tim takes the other. Then, before he can pull the ring fully back, Tim is taking his left hand and bringing it forward. He automatically straightens his fingers, allowing Tim to slip the ring onto his hand, where it settles neatly at the base of his finger. Tim's hand lingers on his, and he gets gifted with a smile, before his intended offers his left hand. He takes in a small breath, then takes Tim's hand and repays the gesture. The ring fits as smoothly on Tim's finger as the other did on his. Tim clasps his hand for a moment, then lets go with a lingering, sharp-edged smirk.

"The promise is made," Janet says, sounding quite satisfied. "The wedding in, shall we say a month? That's adequate time to get everything prepared and the invitations sent out; we'll pay for it, of course."

"Of course," his father agrees. "Shall we leave the two of them alone and discuss details somewhere more comfortable?"

He finds himself swallowing, and then breaks into the conversation to ask, "What about until then?"

Tim takes a half a step forward, reaching forward to capture his hand, a thumb rubbing along the base of his wrist. "Start by introducing me to your brothers, Damian? Let our parents discuss technicalities; I know enough to tell you the important parts."

"As you wish," he's murmuring before he even knows what he's doing. His father is smiling, and so is Tim's mother, but he only has eyes for the soft curl of Tim's lips, and the heat of Tim's fingers around his.

"Please, come with me," his father invites, extending a hand in guidance to the other two Drakes.

He glances to the side to confirm that the three of them are leaving, before Tim tugs at his hand to call his attention back. A flick of Tim's gaze reminds him of his promise, and he turns to guide Tim to his side and bring them both around to face his brothers.

Jason has got a crooked smirk curling his mouth, showing just enough teeth to give the rougher impression that he's known for. In contrast, Dick looks almost angelic beside him, with a pleased, soft smile and no trace of that wicked edge that Jason has going on. If their father had seen Jason's expression, he definitely would have been reprimanded for it. Luckily for Jason, his father never did turn around to check his two older sons.

"Tim, this is Jason, and Richard," he introduces, gesturing at each of his brothers in turn.

"Dick," comes the immediate correction, along with a slightly wider smile. "Nobody who actually knows me calls me 'Richard' unless they're angry with me." It comes with a slight laugh, a charming wink that makes him irrationally defensive for a moment because he _knows_ Dick's track record with anyone who catches his eye. That charm has never failed to capture anyone who his brother was actually interested in.

Tim, as if sensing it, squeezes his hand for a moment. "I'll remember that in case I ever am," his intended promises, with a smile. "I've heard a lot about both of you. All three of you, in fact."

Tim gives him a soft smile, looking up beneath those lashes, and in an instant that defensiveness is just _gone_ , any answer wiped from his mind.

Jason snorts, and when he looks over his brother is straight out grinning. " _Wow_ , you know, I didn't think I'd ever see someone wrap Dami around their fingers so _fast_. Hot _damn_ , can you teach the rest of us to do that? Could be useful."

He scowls, but Tim only laughs, voice dropping to a low purr as he counters, "Sorry, Jason, but it's a _talent_. I could do the same to either of you, if I wanted to." He starts to bristle at the idea, before Tim pulls his hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it, eyelashes fluttering against his skin before Tim looks up and meets his eyes. "Fortunately for the both of you, I don't find either of you as interesting as your brother."

He swallows, and Tim pulls him a step closer, until their arms are pressed up against each other. The heat bleeds through into his skin, even past the fabric in the way, and it reminds him of the desert he was raised in, makes him close his eyes for a moment.

" _Christ_ ," he hears Jason mutter.

"Give me a tour of the castle, Damian?" Tim asks, and he nods without thinking about it.

"Of course."

Tim tugs him away from his brothers, leading him off towards one of the doors leading into the throne room. Then, once he's headed in the right direction, Tim presses up against his side again.

"Show me the whole place," Tim murmurs into his shoulder, fingers squeezing his. "Save what's yours for last."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! So, Pokemon Go is out and oh boy am I kind of losing myself to that. Woops. Working on balancing things out so I work _and_ get writing done _and_ catch lots of pokemon. Working on it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Have fun!

He spends as much time watching Tim as explaining the castle to his intended, showing him the grounds, the corridors, the views, and then, finally, leading him to his rooms. Tim, for the most part, just smiles and occasionally laughs, throwing in small comments that fall somewhere between sarcasm and compliments. He ends up distracted by those laughs more often than not, staring at the line of Tim's throat and the sway of those earrings. Tim also stays pressed to his side the entire time, stepping in time with him with their fingers interlaced, apparently not caring who sees it or what their reactions are.

"These are my quarters," he murmurs, turning to close the door behind them with one hand. "This is what is mine, and not my family's."

For the first time, Tim steps away from his side, fingers slipping from between his. He watches as Tim moves forward, head turning to look around his sitting room, fingers trailing across the backs of chairs and couches as he circles the room. When Tim pushes open the door at the opposite side and moves through, he follows. This time it's his bedroom that Tim circles, examining furniture and trailing his touch over everything, as he stands in the doorway and waits. Eventually, Tim stops in the middle of the room and turns back to him, crooking one hand with an almost-smirk of a smile.

"Come here," Tim commands, and he obeys.

When he's close enough Tim takes his hands, tugging him the last few inches forward until they're closer than is strictly appropriate, and then letting go to reach up with one hand and brush slender fingers over his jaw, cupping it and pulling him down. His heart nearly stops in his chest when Tim leans in and brushes lips across his in a soft, chaste kiss. Only after is he let go, and allowed to straighten back up a little.

He takes in a shallow breath and asks, "Have you done something to me? Some— Some magic, or…?"

A soft laugh, and Tim takes his hands again, eyes amused and smile sharp. "Nothing that isn't natural, Damian. Like I said, it's a talent. Now why don't you come sit down with me?"

He follows when Tim pulls him towards the bed, though his heart thrills and his breathing picks up at the implication, as ridiculous as it is. He lets Tim pull him onto the bed and up against the head of it, and somehow finds himself pushed down lower, his head against Tim's shoulder and an arm behind his neck, instead of the other way around.

He looks up as Tim presses fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head up before drifting that touch down his throat, to the collar of his top. "I like this," his intended murmurs, with a glance outwards. "Your rooms, _you_. I'm looking forward to exploring them more thoroughly."

"I— I did not expect to like you," he admits. "I was only told about this today, and I thought I had been sold off to some minor house, to some— some money-seeking heir. You are not what I expected."

"I'm never what people expect," Tim counters, fingers tracing over his throat. "You can relax, Damian. I don't care about your wealth, or lands, or title; I have plenty all on my own."

"Then why me? I know this was an arranged marriage; did your parents choose me for my name, or—”

"I chose you," comes the interruption. He stalls, and Tim stares down at him, studying him with a calm, methodical edge to his expression. "My mother asked me to choose a suitor, and I chose you. It was only arranged on your side; I came to confirm my choice."

"Why me?" he repeats.

Tim smiles, slow but sharp, and whispers, "Wait and see."

He rallies, pushing up a bit so he can meet Tim's gaze at the same height, fingers curling into the bedspread beneath them. "If you intend to use me against my brothers, I will not cooperate. Dick is the Crown Prince; the throne is his and I will not fight that."

"Miss the bit about me not being interested in your title?" Tim teases. "I didn't choose you because you have a chance of being King someday, and I'm not interested in starting some kind of war. Like I said, I have plenty all on my own." He starts to open his mouth, to ask again, _why_ , but Tim flicks the bottom of his chin, clicking his teeth back together. "Wait and _see_ , Damian."

He swallows his words, and Tim smiles and leans in, catching him in another soft kiss. "We shouldn't—” he protests, but doesn't actually fight or pull away from the brush of his intended's mouth.

"Do I _look_ like my virginity needs to be defended?" Tim nearly purrs. "Earlier, you asked what would happen between now and the wedding. Ready for me to explain?"

"Yes," he manages, opening his eyes to look at his intended.

Tim brushes his hair back, fingers tracing over his scalp and he can't help but swallow. "Over the next week, we'll make sure that there's no incompatibilities between us. I'll move my things here, with you, and we'll spend our time together, getting to know each other and making sure we like each other. If we don't, things can be called off at the end of the week. Since we're both men, there aren't any outdated rules about protecting virginity or anything ridiculous like that. We're free to do what we like; no escort or _distance_ required."

His breath catches at the thought, and he finds himself leaning forward a touch, eyelids lowering to—

Tim pulls away with a laugh, leaving him alone on the bed as his intended spins off of it, getting back to his feet on the other side of the bed. He stares for a moment, as Tim looks over his shoulder with a smirk, and then startles into motion when Tim strides towards the cloth-covered archway leading to his balcony. He gets off the bed, following as Tim sweeps the cloth aside and steps out. He gets there in time to catch the silver cloth, pushing it behind the black metal hook to one side of the archway to hold it open before he heads out onto the balcony.

Tim is pressed up against the balcony's stone railing, arms braced against it, staring out at the colors of the very beginning of sunset. He approaches after just a moment of hesitation, standing next to Tim. Before he can fully process it, Tim has stepped up against his side, shrugging underneath his arm and then wrapping an arm around his waist, palm pressing flat to his other side. Somehow that leaves him with his arm around Tim's shoulders, and he can't find it in him to protest that outcome, not with the heat of Tim's skin bleeding into his own.

"Dinner should be fairly soon, shouldn't it?" his intended murmurs, head turning in against his side.

He takes a look at the colors of the sunset, tries to estimate time, and then answers, "Yes. I would say sometime within the next hour; Father should send someone to summon us before too long."

"Come downstairs with me," Tim says, with a surprisingly strong squeeze of the arm around his waist. "I can order my servants to move the things I brought into your room, so they're all there when we're finished with dinner, and I've said goodbye to my parents."

"I thought they were staying until the morning."

A smile, and an upwards stroke of the hand on his side, solid enough he can feel it through the barrier of his clothing. "Possible, but not likely. They were prepared to stay until tomorrow, if they had lots to discuss with your father, but it's more likely that they'll be leaving tonight. My mother is a very efficient negotiator."

He nods, and then looks down to meet Tim's gaze. "And… tonight? Between us?"

The smile slips to a smirk, before Tim ducks out from under his arm and heads back towards the room, saying, "We'll see," over his shoulder. "Coming, Damian?"

* * *

After dinner, which seems to be very little more than a chance for their parents to study them and their interactions, interspersed with polite small talk, Tim's parents do indeed take their leave. There are a few words — from Dick — about the roads not always being safe at night, but the concerns are dismissed with smiles and a shared _look_ between Tim and Janet that he sees, but doesn't even begin to understand.

His father doesn't press for them to stay, so Tim embraces each of his parents, words shared too quiet between them for anyone else to hear, and paired with those same sharp-edged smiles that apparently are most definitely genetic. It's not a lingering farewell, and he's the next to get drawn in. No embraces, thankfully, but Janet does lean in and whisper in his ear that he'd best take care of her son. There's no obvious threat to the words, but it _feels_ like one.

Only then does Bruce dismiss them all, and he wastes no time heading back to his rooms with Tim at his side, ignoring the look that Jason gives him, and the encouraging smile from Dick. Not that their assumptions are entirely wrong, or at least, there is a part of him that _wants_ their assumptions not to be wrong. One fed by the accumulated memories of Tim's fingers brushing over him, and of the softer smiles that _seemed_ to promise more but then perhaps he misread them. It is not as though he has much experience with things of this nature.

A few fumbling experiences with other noble children, hushed for fear of being caught, and two painfully awkward lectures from his father and Dick when he reached what they deemed as an 'exploratory' age. Really, those were dry mechanics and long lists of warnings about what _not_ to do, to not ruin anyone involved's future.

He's fairly sure that none of that has prepared him for anything actually important.

Tim is the one to dispatch a servant they cross on the way to draw a bath, sending them scurrying off ahead as they continue at a slower pace. Of course it isn't actually finished by the time they get there, but that's not surprising. Tim doesn't seem to mind at least, only sweeps in and immediately to the bedroom, leaving him to follow. He does without thought, mostly ignoring the way the servant easily avoids his path in the course of going to retrieve more water.

Tim's made himself comfortable in the chair in front of his desk, and he crosses over to stand behind his intended, gaze slipping around the room. There are a few stacked cases on the ground, which he assumes contain more of Tim's things, but there are also a few things scattered across his room. Most of it seems to have been stored away to fit neatly where it should go, but not all of it. The most obvious thing is the mirror that now rests at the back of his desk, and the tiered box to one side that's been tilted and left open to display a collection of jewelry in its several drawers, as well as the upper lid.

The jewelry inside is a collection that takes his breath for just a moment, all silver, gold, and gems of various colors and shapes. All of it looks utterly real, which means that the _wealth_ contained in just what's being displayed in that box is… it would probably be enough to build this castle all over again from the ground up. Perhaps he's overestimating its value, as the prices of jewelry are not something he keeps up to date with, but he's at least sure it's a small fortune.

"Like them?" Tim asks, hands rising to remove the silver and sapphire earrings he's wearing and lay them on the desk.

He raises his gaze to meet Tim's through the mirror. "That is quite a collection," is all he can manage, and Tim's mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

"Do you believe now that I'm not interested in your wealth?"

"Yes," is the simple answer, and Tim makes a noise that matches that smirk, all satisfaction, before lowering his head an inch and sweeping his hair off the back of his neck. Automatically, he reaches up to undo the clasp holding the matching necklace, carefully removing it from around Tim's throat and setting it beside the earrings.

Tim catches his wrist as he pulls back, turning to press a kiss to the underside of it with a smile. His intended stands from the chair, turning to face him and stepping close, one hand lifting to circle the back of his neck. He obeys the downwards tug, and the kiss he gets in reward is deeper than the brushes before. This one lingers, Tim's lips soft and hot against his own, and it takes him the length of it to remember to raise his hands and lightly grip either side of Tim's waist, holding his intended close. He gets a pleased sound for that, and then Tim grazes teeth over his bottom lip — his breath catches — before breaking away.

"Not tonight." He opens his eyes, looking down to meet the pleased smile of his intended. "As interested as I am, not tonight, Damian.”

He pauses for a moment, digesting that, before he nods. "Whatever you wish."

"Well, you're patient," Tim says, lightly squeezing the back of his neck.

"Not usually." He turns his head, finding the bare lower arm — the sleeve fallen down around Tim’s elbow — of his intended and pressing a soft kiss to it. "There is… something about you that demands it. I do not wish to rush you."

"You couldn't if you tried," Tim says, smile sharpening just a touch, though not in a way that feels threatening so much as confident. "One week. If we still want each other then, then this connection can be explored on a more physical level. Can you wait, Damian?"

He takes in a deep breath, and then nods again. "I can. I will keep my hands to myself until you wish it otherwise."

He starts to pull his hands back, off of Tim's waist, but pauses at the little shake of his intended's head, paired with a smirk. "I'd be disappointed if you did. Just remember…” Tim leans closer, pulls him down until he's bent enough for his intended to speak directly into his ear, breath hot and lips brushing his skin. "Nothing more will come off than jewelry, so I'd be careful you don't work yourself up too much, my promised. I'm not going to take pity on you; fair warning."

The next breath comes much shallower, before Tim pulls away, letting him go and stepping back to put distance between them. As if on cue, the servant slips out of the bathroom — he somehow entirely missed when she came back to begin with — curtsies to both of them, and then leaves. The message is clear enough despite the lack of words, and Tim looks back to him.

"I'm going to take a bath," is the announcement, that smirk still lingering. "You can have the second, when I'm done. If you have any…” A lingering pause, and a flicker of Tim's gaze lower down on his body. " _Needs_ , you might want to deal with them now. Just a recommendation."

Then he's being left alone, his intended sweeping off into the bathroom and firmly closing the door to block passage. He swallows, decides that he most definitely does not need to take care of any 'needs,' and retreats to his wardrobe to retrieve a set of sleeping pants from within. Which is when his mind strays to thoughts of Tim lying beside him, bare skin hot and smooth against his own. Then, as if to add insult to injury, it strays to thoughts of Tim in that _bath_ as well, all that — he assumes — smooth, pale skin, the water, the _heat_.

He swallows, and grabs a shirt from within the wardrobe as well before he straightens up.

Discarding the idea of ignoring the heat coiling in his gut as a lost cause, he sets his sleeping clothes aside and retreats to the bed to do as Tim _recommended_. He comforts himself with the thought that, as both Jason _and_ Dick are quick to point out when he shows any interest in anything, he is still relatively young and it is _normal_ to be excited easier. Tim is beautiful, enticing, and there should be no shame in the fact that he reacts to that. Tim, at the least, didn't seem to be mocking him for it. Slightly amused, but not teasing or cruel about it.

It doesn't take him all that long, not with the thought of soft lips and hot skin in his head, and the time afterwards is just enough for him to regain some measure of cognitive ability and energy before Tim reappears. That black hair is damp, and the fancy clothing is gone, replaced by a set of light blue — matching those eyes — sleeping clothes that look rather sinfully soft. He starts to stand from his seat at the edge of the bed, before Tim slips in front of him and gathers him into a kiss just long enough to steal his breath.

"Good choice," Tim murmurs, and as soon as he connects it to his act he flushes, sharp and sudden. Tim only pulls back, fingers lingering on his jaw as they slide away. "Go take your bath, my promised; I'll be here when you're done."

He does, slipping into somehow still-hot water and letting it soak into his muscles, easing the last of the ache from his frustrated training that morning. He scrubs himself clean, washing his hair and making sure that none of the evidence from his release is still present before he leaves the bath. He dries off, pulling himself into the set of black sleeping clothes, and leaving the towel on the floor for a servant to deal with in the morning as he heads back into the bedroom.

Tim is stretched out across the bed, but pushes up when he comes back to sit instead. There's something in his intended's hands, and curiosity makes him go to the bed instead of simply blowing out the candles, sitting down as Tim slides over to him.

"I have a gift for you," Tim murmurs, with a smile.

There's only a moment where he could have said something, before Tim is raising both hands up in offering. The sharp glint of gems catches his eyes, and he freezes up for a moment and just stares. It's a piece of jewelry, but not like anything he's seen before, not like anything he's _imagined_.

The base is a thin line of black leather, made to fit around the back of a neck, which connects at what he would guess is the hollow of a throat with a ring he's not positive is actually just silver. Sewn into the leather is a trail of gems in varying shades of green and blue, interspersed with what he's absolutely sure are shining studs of diamonds. Somehow, that trail manages to look like the winding body of a dragon, from the tail at one side, reaching all the way around into the suggestion of wings, and the ring at the center is less of a smooth ring and more a jagged idea of a _mouth_ , teeth framing the center and somehow holding in place a stunningly large diamond right in the middle.

"That—” he swallows, lost for words, and Tim shifts the jewelry to be displayed along one arm, the other rising to ghost over it.

"Sapphire, emerald, tanzanite, opal, peridot, diamond, and the metal is platinum. Do you like it?"

" _Armies_ would fight for something like that," he manages to breathe. "It is a piece for a Queen or a _King_ , not—” Then his mind catches up with the rest of the situation, and he repeats, "A _gift?_ "

Tim shifts, drawing the necklace into both hands and leaning forward. He's helpless to resist as the leather presses against his throat, and Tim hooks it at the back of his neck, leaving it as a weight around his neck, obvious every time he swallows and it draws tight, both leather and metal warming against his skin. Tim's fingers graze against his throat as they pull back just enough to cup either side of his jaw and draw him into a lingering kiss.

"A gift," Tim confirms afterwards, speaking against his mouth before drawing back. "You're promised to be mine, Damian; you should expect gifts."

He stares, shocked into silence by the weight of so much _wealth_ around his throat — he thought he _knew_ wealth but _this_ … — and Tim's fingers slide down his throat, tugging at the leather band a little. Tim looks _very_ satisfied, especially when those fingers drift to the large diamond at the hollow of his throat, lightly pressing it into his skin for a moment and making him swallow on reflex.

"It looks good on you. Matches your eyes; good to see I was right about that." A finger slides beneath the leather, tugging him down a bit as Tim smirks. "Come on, Damian, blow out the candles and come to bed."

That jerks him into action, and he raises his hands to disconnect the clasp at the back of the piece of jewelry, before suddenly there are hands at his wrists, dragging them sharply back down. He looks up, startled, and Tim shakes his head.

"No, leave it." There's no explanation offered, but there's a serious note to Tim's voice that makes it truly sound like an _order_ , rather than a request.

He dips his head a bit. "As you wish," is what he can manage, still feeling completely dazed.

Tim lets him go and he shifts off the bed, moving on automatic to blow out the candles around the room before returning to the bed. Tim has slipped beneath the covers and is holding it open to him as well, and he makes his way as close as he can before leaning down to blow out the last candle on the bedside table, casting the room in darkness apart from the faint glow of moonlight through the fabric leading to his balcony. He slides down onto the bed, feeling his way underneath everything before the covers are released to fall over him. Before he can even think about what's appropriate, Tim is pressing close to him and sliding an arm around his waist, head fitting neatly beneath his chin and legs tangling with his.

He can't help but relax at the heat that Tim is giving off, and he ends up carefully sliding his upper arm around his intended's back, holding him close. The brush of breath against his throat is unfamiliar but not unpleasant, and the sound that comes with it is satisfied and comfortable, the arm around his waist dragging him an inch or so closer with that same surprising strength from earlier.

He closes his eyes, breathing out slow and deep as he lets himself start to give in to the temptation of sleep.

Until Tim murmurs, "If you don't like a gift, you don't have to accept it. Just tell me what you don't like, and I'll do better next time."

It take him a moment to retreat far enough from sleep to gather his thoughts about the choker, and then to summon enough focus to actually voice them.

"It is… beautiful. Beyond beautiful. I simply cannot see how something like this could be given as a mere _gift_ , at a whim. To buy or commission something like this could bankrupt a noble family, and you can afford to simply give it away without any sort of ceremony? Like some bauble?"

"So you _do_ like it," Tim says, with that same distinctly satisfied edge. His intended worms a little closer with a satisfied hum. "When you're mine, officially, I'll have to take you to my home. It's not just a bauble, Damian, not even to my family, but you are my _promised_." A squeeze of the arm around his waist. "If you wanted the most valuable piece of jewelry we owned, I'd give it to you."

"That does not make sense," he breathes. " _Why?_ "

Tim yawns, voice lowering to a drowsy whisper. "Courting. Sleep, my promised. You'll understand later on."

With Tim pressed to him, and sleep beckoning anyway, he doesn't bother resisting the command.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome! Plot twists; they approach! Have fun and enjoy!

It's a voice that wakes him, and he stirs and pries his eyes open because it's not one that he recognizes. Female, higher range, and sounding a bit distant. He looks up and finds a servant in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her and gaze fixed on him. It immediately lowers when she notices he's awake, of course.

"Your Highness," she murmurs, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before shifting a little more purposefully.

"Yes?" he grumbles, which is when the heat at his back stirs as well and he remembers that it's an actual person. The arm that he's just noticing is looped around his waist pulls back enough to press down on his side, as his intended pushes up to something more like sitting, still pressed close to him and leaning partially over him.

"The King sent me to inform you both that breakfast will be ready soon," she says, gaze not rising off the floor. "Do you require anything this morning, your Highness?"

He gives something like a shake of his head, and Tim presses closer and says, voice low and almost _threatening_ , "We'll be down. You can go."

That gets him to really open his eyes again, to turn his head and look up at his intended as the servant hurries out. Tim's eyes are narrowed, hair a little bit of a mess but clearly miles more alert than he is and not pleased. He blinks and takes in the pressure at his back, the hand resting on his side and the way Tim is almost curled _over_ him more than next to him.

"What was that?" he asks, his voice low and rough with sleep.

Tim looks down, and for a moment is sharp and focused before visibly easing. "I don't like people entering my space without invitation," his intended murmurs, lying back down behind him, that arm sliding beneath his and around his chest. "Can we get breakfast delivered instead?"

"Yes, but not today," he answers, and then continues the previous thread by pointing out, "She was only doing her job." He turns over to be face to face with his intended, careful not to roll himself into Tim. He gets a displeased grumble before Tim burrows closer, head fitting underneath his chin again. "We can have breakfast delivered other mornings; this one we will be expected to make an appearance. At the least, so that my brothers can tease me about what they _think_ we did."

That earns him a muffled laugh, before Tim pulls back with an amused huff of breath. "Alright, I suppose I can get up for that. What kind of dress code are we talking?"

"Dick frequently shows up still in sleeping clothes," he offers, as Tim extends both arms up into the air and arches into a stretch. "We take meals in a smaller, private room unless we have guests, so you may dress as you like with no fear of any other nobles seeing. If the family judges you I will remind them of what _they_ have worn, sometimes."

Tim leans down over him with a smile, murmuring, "How sweet." He gets a soft kiss before Tim is pulling away again, that sharp edge to his smile again as it gets flashed over his shoulder. "You don't need to defend me, Damian, trust me."

"Physically, or are you speaking of in societal situations?" He pushes himself up to sitting, watching Tim circle around to the wardrobe and open it to look at the clothes within. Which are definitely not only his anymore, and he'd make a guess that the dresser beside it isn't entirely his anymore either.

"Either," Tim says, with another flash of that smile aimed his direction. "I can take care of myself, not that your urge to defend me isn't very sweet." Tim opens one of the dresser drawers as well, sifting through whatever's in it. "Here," Tim calls, and then a piece of clothing is being thrown to him. He catches it as Tim moves back to him, pulling it apart to see one of his plainer, black, high-collared tops.

"Is that what you want me wearing?" he asks, kind of amused but also curious. Then Tim is climbing into his _lap_ , knees to either side of his hips and one arm looping around his shoulders. He swallows, slightly frozen and his fingers curling into the black fabric.

"Well," Tim starts, apparently completely unbothered by the new position on his lap, "I assumed that you would want to wear something that would cover my gift." His breath catches when Tim tugs on the back of the necklace he'd almost entirely forgotten about, pulling it tight against the front of his throat for just a second. "If that isn't the case, I'd be _very_ pleased if you want to show it off."

"I—” He considers it for a moment, trying to make himself focus and think about it. "I think I need a bit of time to come to terms with even owning this before I can feel comfortable wearing it in public.”

Tim leans down, turning to press a kiss to the side of his throat, just above the leather. “Keep it on,” his intended murmurs against his skin, fingers sliding up the back of his neck to lightly curl in the hair at the base of his skull.

“Is there a reason?”

Tim presses a bit closer, crushing the top in his hands between them. “I like seeing it on you.”

“If I wear this top you will not be _able_ to see it.”

“But I’ll _know_.” His intended pulls away, slipping off his lap and straightening up, hand sliding along his jaw for a moment. “Hide it, but wear it. For me.”

He sighs in mostly feigned irritation, and inclines his head. “As you wish.”

The way Tim smiles makes the slight unease he feels at wearing something so valuable seem inconsequential, and he swallows away what is left of that feeling. He’s sure it will be a simple matter of time to settle into the idea of wearing a kingdom’s-worth of wealth around his throat. After all, his mother had raised him to be capable of ruling the world, why should he balk at a simple piece of jewelry?

* * *

Jason and Dick eye him all throughout breakfast, none-too-subtly examining both him and his intended, probably for any signs they can find of what they expect. By the looks they share, he has to assume there is something misleading about his appearance, though neither of them say anything about it. In fact he almost thinks he’s escaped whatever comments they have, until — just before he is about to leave — Jason leans a bit forward onto the table with a wide grin and breaks the pattern of small talk.

“Hey, Dami. Talk to you for a second?”

There is no graceful way to refuse, though he does look to his father for a moment just on the off chance that an intervention might come. A rare hope, but sometimes his father will step in the way to stop his brothers’ — especially Jason’s — random requests or verbal attacks.

Instead of helping, his father sets his knife down and looks up to say, “That’s actually a good idea. I wanted a word alone with Tim, before the two of you leave.”

Tim doesn’t look at all surprised, just inclines his head a touch and murmurs, “As you wish, your Majesty.”

That’s about all he gets before Jason and Dick are standing from the table and pulling him with them, all but dragging him out of the smaller dining room and through the door to the connected sitting room. He irritably shakes their hands off as Dick closes the door, scowling at the manhandling and the dismissal of his complete _lack_ of agreement to this idea.

“What do you want?” he demands, crossing his arms over his chest and circling around the room so he has both of them in line of sight as well as on the opposite side of a couch. Not that it will stop either of them, but he’ll take what obstacles he can get between him and his overly touch-oriented brothers.

Jason leans on the back of a chair, grinning, as Dick smiles and none-too-subtly slips closer. “So, how was the _night?_ ” Jason teases. “Gotta say, he’s _very_ pretty. Just as much of a dream in a bed, or is there actually a fatal flaw in there somewhere?”

“That is not your business,” he counters. “It would not be even if we _had_ engaged in the acts you are implying.”

“Hah! Bullshit.” Jason grins a little wider. “Dami, I know you like your high-collar clothes, but _no one_ wears high-collar clothes after a night in bed with the person they’re _engaged_ to unless they’re hiding something. Come on, spill. Bites or bruises?”

“He’s got a point,” Dick says, taking up residence on the arm of the couch he’s hiding behind. “You don’t have to be ashamed, little Prince; it’s totally natural and it’s _fun_. Share?” It’s accompanied by a moment of large, pleading blue eyes and a winning smile, and he rolls his eyes at Dick’s obvious persuasion techniques.

Before he realizes he _is_ hiding something, and that though misdirected, they are not _wrong_ exactly. He swallows, feels the necklace press against his throat, and defends, “It is not what you think.”

Jason loops the chair, coming around to face him over the dubious protection of the couch, arms crossing in mirror of his own position. “Uh-huh. Prove it, Dami.”

He glares at Jason, recognizing _those_ persuasion techniques too, but scoffs and uncrosses his arms to raise one hand to his collar. He pulls it down, baring some of Tim’s gift, and Jason sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and _stares_. He flushes, and almost misses Dick spinning off the arm of the chair and back around it to stand next to him.

“Dick!” he snaps, when Dick pulls his collar down farther to get a better look at the piece of jewelry. He doesn’t move away though, too used to his brothers’ lack of a sense of personal space. Which is why he doesn’t do any more than growl a little bit when Jason circles around in a few long strides to examine his new adornment as well.

“What is _that?_ ” Jason asks, sounding somewhere between shocked and fascinated.

He almost replies sarcastically, but bites down on it to instead simply answer, “A gift. Tim and I did nothing last night — he wishes to wait till the end of the week — but he gave me this.”

“I thought _we_ had money,” Dick says with a small laugh.

“Are those real?” is Jason’s more blunt question. He nods instead of answering, and Jason breathes out, “ _Fuck_. Christ, Dami, where’d you get the luck to land a husband like that? That diamond could feed a whole town for _years_.”

He shakes his head a little, only able to answer, "I do not know. He said he has no interest in my wealth or title so I do not know why he picked me. Though at least I now know why Father _agreed_ to the match."

"Yeah," Jason snorts, "no shit."

"Jason," Dick reprimands, "language. Be nice."

"It wasn't a _criticism_ ," is the defense, as Jason glares past him and towards Dick. "I'm just saying it's now really fucking obvious why Bruce was a bastard and went behind all of our backs. If you could get control of those kind of riches and the opportunity was just handed to you, wouldn't _you_ sell off your kid?"

Dick glares back, shifting behind him to swat Jason's arm. "Jason, be _nice_."

"Don't _hit_ me, jackass."

"Then knock off the nasty comments."

"Oh, I'll show you _nasty_."

Just like that, his brothers are scuffling, swinging halfhearted fists at each other and grappling for some kind of hold. He rolls his eyes, turning to watch their play-fight as he leans against the back of the couch, crossing his arms again. He keeps his expression uninterested and disdainful, even as he studies their different styles to file them away for future reference. Jason is bigger and stronger, but Dick is faster and more flexible, and as expected, is coming out more on top the longer it goes on.

When Dick has Jason in half a chokehold, legs wound around his and trapping one arm against Jason's broader chest, is when the door opens. He looks up to find Tim slipping in, his intended's gaze lowering to where his brothers are wrestling on the ground. He waits, breathless for a moment, before Tim smiles and walks further in with total confidence.

"Is this something I should get used to?" Tim asks, coming up beside him and slipping an arm around his waist.

"Yes," he answers bluntly.

"Usually I'm winning!" Jason gasps from the ground, swinging an elbow back towards Dick's side, ineffectually.

"Liar," Dick says with a slightly breathless laugh. "Come on, little brother, _yield_."

"Know me better, _Dick_ ," is the response, coming with a snarl and harder struggles.

Tim leans into his side, and he turns his head down in time to catch his intended leaning up for a kiss. The brush of lips is soft and short, before Tim pulls away again and asks, "So is it just them, or do you play like this too?"

"Sometimes," he admits, quiet against the strained grunts of his brothers. "When they pull me into it. I prefer to do my fighting in spars, and with blades. Barehanded combat is a situation I do not like to find myself in."

"Alright!" Jason's call comes out choked, hand swatting at the arm around his throat. " _Shit_ , yield. Yield!"

Dick lets go with a laugh, letting Jason collapse down onto the floor with a gasp as he lies back, raising an arm up to slip beneath his head as he grins. "Sorry, what was that about knowing you better, Jay?"

"Jackass," Jason spits, and Dick smacks him in the gut in retaliation. He grunts and then glares over at their eldest brother. "Oh, don't _make_ me go after you again, Dick."

Dick rolls up and back onto his feet with easy grace, turning to smile down at Jason. "You'll lose again. Want a hand getting up?"

"Kiss my ass," Jason grumbles, getting to his feet without any help and then dodging out of the way of another swat.

Tim laughs, and then slips away from his side and steps forward, catching the attention of both of his brothers. "Either of you still have energy for a second round?"

His eyes widen, surprised at the _idea_ that Tim might fight, even playfully, with one of his brothers. Tim is small, thin, and certainly not nearly as threatening as either of his taller, muscled kin. It's not an idea that sits all that well in his mind, even as he recalls Tim's declaration that he didn't need to be defended. He's not sure that he completely believes that, but he _is_ sure that he's worried about what might happen if Tim wrestles with his brothers. Not out of any sort of _jealousy_ , but because he doesn't want to see his intended hurt and his brothers aren't exactly gentle.

"I am not certain that is a good idea," he murmurs, looking up and past the back of Tim's head with a slightly warning glare at both his brothers, who look as surprised as him.

Tim, on the other hand, is slipping the silver and ruby earrings he wore off his ears and then detaching the matching, short necklace, all with a smile. "Relax, Damian. It's all for fun, isn't it?"

Dick hesitates, even as Jason takes a step back with a definite air of refusal, gaze dipping away. "We don't want to hurt you," Dick explains, standing slightly awkwardly.

He finds the earrings and necklace pressed into his hand, and then Tim smiles with that _sharp_ edge and just a hint of teeth, and says, "Oh, you won't. Need a moment?"

His eldest brother is decent enough to hesitate another moment, and glance at him again, before rolling both shoulders in a small shrug and giving a slightly uncertain smile. "Nope; all good. You?"

"Your move," Tim challenges, standing loose and calm and looking so _small_ next to the three of them.

"I don't—” he starts, looking to protest this.

Dick looks up, and Tim _strikes_. Suddenly Dick is on the floor, legs swept out from under him, and Tim is smiling, not moving in but just waiting. It takes his brother a moment to gather the breath back to push up, eyes wide and startled. Tim's smile stays, and Dick gets to his feet, rubbing just a bit at his chest with one hand, breathing both a little harder and a touch uneven. The surprise in Dick's eyes fades into focus, and Tim shifts a little bit, shoulders curling just a bit inwards and hands rising a fraction from his sides.

He grips the back of the couch with both hands, mildly impressed by how fast his intended apparently is but still _worried_. Dick won't be caught by the same trick twice, he's sure of it. It's going to take more than just some speed to bring his brother down this time, and now Dick is focused, and alert… He just can't shake the worry in his gut that Tim is going to get hurt here. It's not like he hasn't been hurt wrestling with his brother, not like _all_ of them haven't once or twice come out of matches with more injuries than they ever meant to inflict.

Intently as he's watching, he still almost misses the start of it. Dick strikes first, and Tim flows down beneath the blow like a breath of air, laying two hard punches in his brother's side before planting a foot between his brother's legs and then _twisting_. Dick yelps, twisting away from the blows and then getting unbalanced by the hook of the leg between his. He topples forward, helped along by a shove to the center of his back, and Tim is just a fraction behind him as he hits the floor face-down.

He watches, more impressed, as Tim shoves a calf in below Dick's throat, clenching his brother's neck in the bend of that leg. One hand grabs a handful of Dick's hair, dragging his head back, and the other grabs the closer wrist and twists Dick's arm up behind his back high enough to test even Dick's flexibility. His brother gasps, jerking against a pin that frankly shouldn't hold him but somehow _does_. Tim is smirking, and then those light blue eyes rise to meet his gaze, holding it as he tugs harder on Dick's arm and hair, as if __showing off.

Then Dick's free hand taps the floor, paired with a gasped, " _Yield_."

Tim holds it a fraction of a second longer than he should, and then releases Dick from the pin. "Still scared of hurting me?" his intended teases, as Dick rolls over onto his back and gasps in air, one hand to his side.

Jason bursts out laughing, and Dick follows a moment behind and says, a little breathless and through a wide smile, "Not even a little."

Tim steps back, away from the sprawl of Dick's legs, and then walks back over to him. The jewelry gets reclaimed from his hand, and Tim smiles and slips it on before leaning up to brush lips across his jaw and then whisper, "I can take care of myself, Damian. No need to worry."

He gives a small nod, just a bit shocked, and Tim presses up against his side and beneath his arm. Jason somehow manages to stop laughing, one hand covering what's undoubtedly a large grin.

Tim ignores both that and the grunt of effort as Dick gets back to his feet, rolling the twisted shoulder. "Take me through a day in your life?" his intended requests, with a smile clearly meant just for him. "I'd like to see your world."

Jason snorts, and then, almost mockingly, says, "See you both for _dinner_ then, huh? Don't forget to eat lunch too, Dami, no matter how entranced you are."

"I won't let him," Tim answers for him, and then pushes that arm back around his waist and steers him towards the exit. "Come, my promised. You have a _life_ to show me."

He really can't find it in him to actually resist.

* * *

Seven days pass where he spends just about every moment with Tim, even if he's engaging in training with his father's guards or attending to his other duties as a prince. He doesn't have that much to do from day to day, which is probably good because Tim's presence is an enormous distraction. Tim is almost constantly pressed close to him, warm like he's just finished lying in the sun, an arm around his waist or fingers interlaced with his. And when he spars with the guards, or one of his brothers pulls him into a play fight, Tim sits back and watches with a smirk and obvious interest in his gaze.

In private, Tim takes to running fingers through his hair and pressing kisses to his neck, which tends to pretty quickly derail whatever he might be trying to do and leave him curled into Tim's side and half asleep. Somehow, the choker gifted to him just stays around his throat and never leaves. His intended is there when he goes to bathe, pulling the necklace away, and there when he returns to slip it back on. Faced with the _satisfaction_ in Tim's eyes whenever it's visible, he simply never feels the desire to remove it.

For the last two days he wears tops that have lower collars that actually show it, and the stares unnerve him a bit but Tim nearly _glows_ and spends nearly every private moment that first day touching his neck and kissing him. He quickly decides that it's worth it, even if he has a brief moment of crisis when his _father_ sees the gift and stares as well for a few moments.

At the end of the week, he wakes in the middle of the night to an empty, cold bed. It takes him a few bizarre, groggy moments to figure out why the feeling is so disorienting and unfamiliar, until he recalls the ever-present heat of Tim either at his back or against his chest whenever he's drifted awake during the last week. It's a strange thought to realize that the _lack_ of Tim's presence is now so odd to him.

He pushes himself up to sitting, peering around the shadowed room and not finding his intended anywhere. The doors to the sitting room and bathroom are closed — somehow the servants have picked up the habit of knocking on the door until one of them awakens instead of simply entering — but the fabric leading to the balcony is pulled aside and spilling moonlight onto the carpeted floor.

He shakes off some of the fog of sleep, getting to his feet and circling the bed — resisting the urge to rub at his eyes — so he can slip outside to the balcony. "Tim?" he calls, keeping his voice quiet but loud enough to carry at least out to the edges of the balcony. It's empty, but there's a pile of clothing that, when he kneels, is definitely what Tim had gone to bed in.

He gets up, worry starting to rise in his chest, and then a shadow falls over him. He jerks his head up and freezes in place, eyes widening and a cry seizing in his throat from purely instinctive _fear_.

Moonlight reflects off of scales as a shadow dives past him and underneath his balcony, spiraling back up and then _huge_ wings snap open and blanket everything around him in that shadow, wind rushing as they beat to keep the creature, the _dragon_ , aloft. He stares at leather wings, huge white teeth, slitted blue eyes, and he should be _screaming_ an alarm but the sound is caught in his throat and he's frozen still, as if he could be passed over if he just stays still enough.

The creature is _massive_ , sinuous and long with slender limbs and a flexible neck, easily large enough to fill his father's throne room with little space to spare. It's hard to tell its color in the moonlight, but it's a mix of blues and greens from what he _can_ see, tending towards the lighter colors.

It's wings tilt, beat down harder, and then its paws are settling on the rail of his balcony, white claws tearing shallow gouges into the stone as it comes closer to him. He jerks back a step, sucking in a sharp breath to call out for _anyone_ , and then that call dies in his throat because the dragon is _shrinking_. He stares as it comes up over the railing, growing smaller and smaller, its scales and wings melting away beneath skin and then before he can believe or understand what's happening there's a _human_ standing on his balcony instead of a dragon.

_Tim_ straightens up out of the crouch, utterly nude but not seeming to care even a bit. His breath comes shallow and fast as Tim approaches, stride graceful and confident as his intended gives him a sharp smile and walks right past. He turns without thinking about it, and finds himself given a view of Tim's back. There's a dark blue design marking his skin; two long, distinctly dragon-like wings — extending down from each shoulder blade — with a pattern of overlapping scales beneath it, covering his spine from the base of his neck to his tailbone, and spreading out over most of the center of his back.

"You—”

Tim looks over his shoulder, still has that sharp smile but it looks distinctly more otherworldly now and he finds himself swallowing, which makes him hyper-aware of the choker around his throat and the ring on his finger, and their very _specific_ motif.

"You are a _dragon_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! So, this is the last official chapter, where the story ends. There's one more shorter one that will get posted after it, but that one's an idea I had that I still _adore_ , but didn't fit into the main storyline. (Hint; Tim likes seeing Damian in jewels.) So, for this final chapter comes the _filth_. This is like, seventy percent porn. Enjoy!

_"You are a dragon."_

Tim's gaze holds his as that smile widens a bit, and he realizes the slitted eyes that stared down at him not even a minute ago are the same shade as Tim's. The choker around his neck and the ring on his finger feel like large, glaring signs now, and he thinks about Tim's strength, his speed, the possessive edge to all their interactions, and the way Tim is always warmer than him, almost hot.

"Did you think you were the power between us?" Tim asks, voice one of those low purrs that he'd never thought twice about before this moment.

"Yes?" he answer helplessly, and Tim tilts his head back and laughs. Not cruel, just genuinely amused.

He watches as Tim slips around the bed, picking the candle up off of its small tray on the bedside table and raising it. A glance towards him and then Tim's mouth is parting and exhaling a little lick of _flame_ that lights the wick of the candle. He can't do more than stare, even as Tim sets the candle down and walks back towards him. His intended just brushes past, unhooking the drape of fabric so it falls back over the arch to the balcony, and then comes back around to stand in front of him.

"Drake," Tim says, with a little smirk. "My last name is _Drake_ ; it means dragon. My kind isn't exactly known for being subtle."

"I am starting to understand that," he breathes, and Tim shifts a step closer. He swallows as Tim raises a hand, but doesn't draw away from the cup of fingers along his jaw. He lets himself be drawn down into a slow, lingering kiss, Tim's lips still hot against his. The idea of that _flame_ makes him shiver, but Tim murmurs some kind of comfort and just draws him closer even as their lips part.

"I'm the last heir to my ancestors' fortunes," Tim whispers, hand sliding back into his hair, "and I chose _you_ as my mate. I want to share what I have with you." Tim draws away, and he opens his eyes to meet that gaze, to look into Tim's eyes as his intended asks, "Still willing to be my husband, Damian?"

"Why me?" he finds himself asking, like the first night.

Tim leans in, kisses him again for just a moment before answering, "You come from two strong lines; powerful rulers, men and women alike. You're good-looking, intelligent, strong, and you don't strike me as the type to try and take my wealth for your own. I considered a lot of people, but you're the one I picked. I think you'll pass on good traits to our children."

His mind stutters to a halt as he, still helplessly, repeats, "Children?"

Tim gives a low laugh. " _Dragon_. I can play either side; you being a guy isn't a problem. If it was I would have picked a woman, for the sake of continuing the line and all that."

"I— I had not considered _children_ as part of the relationship," he admits.

"Do you need more time?" Tim asks, head tilting to the side. "I understand if you do; I can get them to postpone any announcement until you've made up your mind one way or the other. My mother will understand; my father needed nearly two months to sort himself out before he agreed."

"I would like to think I am not that indecisive," he murmurs. "You are not intending to… eat me, or anything similar? There are no customs I should know of that would harm me or my family?"

Tim hums a bit, gaze rising to the ceiling for a moment. "Well, dragons mate for life, so if you ever try and abandon me I might eat you then, maybe. But it would stop at you. I'm not going to raze your kingdom or anything. Other than that, no. Basically just more of the same from this week, and I'm _pretty_ sure that you've liked this week."

"I have." He takes in a deep breath, then tilts his head towards Tim's wrist and shifts it in a small nod. "I am still willing. It is… not what I expected, but it is not unwelcome." He meets Tim's gaze, and gives a small shrug as he admits, "There are certainly many advantages to having a dragon on my side."

Tim laughs, and then drags him into a kiss that ends with a graze of teeth and a whispered, "Oh, my treasure, you have _no idea_. You remember what I said at the start of this week? About waiting?"

"You wanted to be sure I would not run from what you are," he fills in.

"Well, _that_ , but there are some definite physical differences between me and a normal human male which would have given up the whole game." Tim's free hand grips his, pulling him down a few inches to guide his hand down and _oh_. "See?" Tim murmurs.

His breath catches as Tim rocks forward into his hand. He can feel the hard press of what he expected at the heel of his hand, but farther down, where Tim's guided his fingers, is something he definitely remembers from his fumbling encounters with women. Warm and just barely wet, and at the press of Tim's fingers manipulating his he pushes a finger up inside his intended. Tim gives a pleased sound as he shudders at the heat and wetness around his finger, before his mouth is caught again and Tim is lightly biting at his lower lip, rocking against his hand.

Tim's hand slides up his wrist and arm, then curls into his shirt. "Take this off," his intended hisses, "or it's getting _torn_ off."

He swallows, his other hand rising and finding Tim's waist. "You are sending conflicting messages. I cannot remove my top without moving my hand, and you seem to want it there."

"I'm a changeable creature," is the immediate counter, and then Tim is leaning forward and snorting laughter into his shoulder, almost shaking with it.

It takes him a second to catch the joke, but when he does he finds himself laughing too, head turning down against Tim's hair. He wraps his arm around Tim's back, and then carefully extracts his other hand so he can do the same with that arm and merely hold his intended to him. Tim doesn't seem to mind, if the way he presses close is any indication.

They stay there until the laughter subsides, and then Tim lifts his head, still with a small grin. "To the bed, and off with the clothes. Unless you're _tired_."

"Having a dragon swoop down on you is a rather efficient way of being woken up," he points out, as Tim pulls away and heads for the bed. He follows, gaze caught on the lines of the markings on Tim's back, following the shape of those wings and the pattern of the scales beneath. Tim pauses, and he follows instinct and steps right up behind his intended, stroking a hand up the center of Tim's back.

Tim arches under his touch, like a cat, and gives a pleased hum. He remembers then to lower both his hands to his shirt and pull it off, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Tim's right shoulder blade, and then the left. His intended sighs, shifting back into his touch and curling a bit forward to bare more of his back. He takes the hint and raises his hands to lightly grip Tim's waist, pressing harder kisses to those shoulder blades and feeling Tim curve into it.

"Sensitive," Tim murmurs, with a slight haze to his voice, "where the wings connect."

"Not too sensitive?" he asks, against Tim's skin.

Tim reaches back, curling fingers in his hair and holding him in. "You bite before I'm really worked up I'll hit you," is the warning. "Pants too, Damian. We can do slow later but I want you _now_."

He swallows, but obeys. Tim turns around when his pants drop, hand still curled in his hair and holding him more or less still as his intended's eyes rake over him, lingering low enough to make him blush. It only gets worse when Tim steps forward and lowers a hand to wrap around him with absolutely _no_ sense of shyness.

"Not bad at all," Tim murmurs, as he grips at Tim's upper arms and tries not to buck too hard into the hand around him. "You've had some experience, right?"

He nods, fighting not to grip any tighter than he is. "A few encounters. Fumbling; none went much further than this."

Tim's satisfied sound is nearly predatory. "All mine then. Alright, come on, my treasure." Tim tugs once at him before letting go with that hand, pulling him to the bed with the hand in his hair and pushing him to sprawl across it. Before he can recover Tim is crawling over him, all but manhandling him into something resembling lying vertical on the bed, his head at the pillows.

Tim straddles his hips, one hand falling to wrap around him, and he manages to get out, "Should we not—” before Tim is sinking down, taking him in and _oh god_.

He chokes a bit, almost bucking up but luckily one of Tim's hands is holding his pelvis down as tight, wet heat engulfs him. He reaches down, grabbing Tim's arm with one hand and curling his other into the blanket beneath him, gasping for breath. Then Tim presses down, fully seated, and he shudders and twists against the bed. Tim rocks a bit, hand leaving his pelvis to brace in the center of his chest instead, eyes closed and mouth parted a touch in obvious pleasure.

"Slow some other time," Tim breathes, rocking with more purpose. "This happens _now_."

Tim starts to really _move_ on top of him, and he arches and struggles to find his bearing underneath the unfamiliar ecstasy. He ends up holding Tim's waist, digging his fingers in tight enough it feels like he might bruise the pale skin beneath them as he tries to meet his intended's rhythm. He has no idea if he's talented or Tim just eases into his attempts, but they end up moving together as he rocks up into each of Tim's downward pushes, his hands feeling more than guiding, and Tim's hands braced against his chest for balance.

It's like nothing he's ever felt; there's _no_ comparison to the rushed kisses and clumsy hands of his previous encounters. Seeing Tim arched, hearing him _moan_ , is a heaven all its own, even beyond the physical feelings. He's never been so invested in his partner's pleasure before.

The hands on his chest curl, digging nails into his skin and he gasps at the feeling, bucking up off-rhythm and making Tim give a sharp little cry. For a moment he worries he's hurt his intended, before Tim grinds down onto him with a more pronounced arch of his back, nails scratching along his chest. It's good, _too_ good, and he tightens his grip on Tim's waist and chokes back a moan, trembling a bit as Tim slides back into the rise and fall.

"Tim," he gasps, "I— I have not— I _cannot_ —”

"It's alright," Tim answers, with a whine chasing his words. "It's alright, Damian. Go ahead."

One of the hands braced on his chest withdraws, lowering so Tim can wrap it around his own length with a clearly practiced grip. He manages to flush harder, feeling almost dizzy at the sight, and the way Tim cries out towards the ceiling, hand moving almost _desperately_. It's more than enough to fling him off the edge he'd only been half-aware of clinging to, and he echoes the cry and clenches his hands down onto Tim's waist. His back arches, hips shoving upwards to meet the fall of Tim's, muscle going tense enough to almost _ache_ as he shakes through an orgasm more powerful than any he's ever managed to wring out of himself with only his own hands.

Tim doesn't stop moving, rocking through it and he swears his eyes roll back in his head at how good it feels, at how it just _keeps going_. Then Tim is gasping above him, grinding down and moaning. He jerks a bit at the splatter of wet heat against his stomach, and then ends up gasping for air at the sharp, _incredible_ contractions around his length, and the shocks of pleasure that come with it. Tim's hands grip his arms, one slightly damp against his skin, fingers contracting hard enough that it hurts. He shudders, slowly coming back to himself enough that he can open his eyes, looking up at Tim.

His intended's head is hanging low, eyes closed and mouth parted to breathe, a flush lingering across pale skin. He stares in wonder, watching as Tim eases back to consciousness as well, and finally looks up at him. Tim smiles, sudden and warm, fingers sliding up his arms in a caress. His intended gives a satisfied sound, then pushes up and pulls off of him. He gives a sharp little choked sound at the feeling, before Tim is leaning down and curling up beside him, head pressing to his shoulder and breath hot against his throat. Tim's still half on top of him, one leg pressing in between his and an arm on top of his chest, palm resting over his heart.

Tim presses an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and he turns his head to catch the next with his lips instead. Then Tim is shifting higher, rising over him and curling a hand in his hair, pulling him into a harder kiss with a tongue that slides easily into his mouth. He's helpless to the feeling of it, to the weight of Tim's body over his own and the ever-present heat of his intended's skin, to the confidence and desire and power of the _dragon_ above him.

He slides his hands up Tim's sides, feeling the deceptively hidden muscle beneath that skin. A moment later he remembers Tim's earlier reactions, and slips his hands up onto Tim's back, exploring the skin beneath his hands until he finds the juts of shoulder blades on either side. Tim gives a soft little moan against his mouth, rocking into him and god he can _feel_ the wet heat slide against his thigh.

Tim pushes up into his hands, breaks the kiss to give a slightly louder moan and rock against his leg again, more purposefully this time. "Again," Tim demands, slightly breathless but no less commanding for it. "Let's go again."

He shudders, almost instinctively lifting his leg to brace his foot on the bed, to give Tim an angle to work with. "I do not think I can," he admits, "not this quickly."

Tim's mouth slides into a smile, and then his intended is rolling off of him, grabbing his arm on the way to pull him with so they end up reversed. He nearly falls onto his intended, but manages to catch his weight a moment before. Before he can reorient, Tim takes his hand and pulls it down, sliding it between his thighs and to the heat there. His breath catches at the feeling, at the knowledge that Tim's thighs are slick, and the opening against his palm is wet with at least some measure of _his_ seed.

Tim's hand strokes the back of his, hips pushing up against him. "Let me show you how to please me," Tim whispers, other hand curling around the back of his neck to bring him in and press their foreheads together.

At Tim's guidance he works his fingers inside of that warm heat, busying his mouth against his intended's shoulder and neck as he follows the breathy, gasped instructions and works Tim towards a second release. The feeling of Tim contracting rhythmically around his fingers, shaking with pleasure and giving a soft cry into the air between them, is one of the most breathtaking things he's ever had the honor of witnessing.

He's hard again by then, and after only a moment of pause Tim spreads his legs wider and drags him between them, guiding him in with one hand and crying out again when he pushes home. Tim is still sensitive, is _louder_ this time and nearly _screams_ his third release, which comes sharp on the heels of the second and a few minutes before his. This time he gets to feel Tim relaxed around him, hot and welcoming with legs wrapped loosely around his hips.

The third time comes when Tim slides to hands and knees, shoots him a look with just a little bit of a flash of teeth, and demands, "Take me as if you were my own kind, Damian."

He moves as if possessed, getting to his knees and grabbing Tim's hips, lining up and sinking into the wet mess of him without a word of warning. Tim arches, head tossing back, and he finds himself leaning forward, shoving Tim down with his weight as he finds a hard, deep pace that pushes him as far into his intended as he can go with each thrust. He lets go with one hand, reaching up to grab a handful of Tim's hair to yank him back into the slam of his hips, and finds himself baring his teeth and biting into the side of Tim's throat.

Tim jerks against him, and then hisses, " _More_. Give me _more_."

He speeds up a bit, tightening his grips and pulling harder on Tim's hair to force his intended into an arch, lowering his mouth to Tim's back. He gets a cry when he bites down over one shoulder blade, at the connection of the wing markings on Tim's back, and then a second, more desperate one when he mirrors the action on the other side. No protest comes though, so he keeps his mouth there, shoving Tim down until his intended's shoulders are to the bed, Tim's hands curling against the blankets beneath them.

The sound of him fucking into Tim is dirty, and he speeds up when the thought seizes control in his mind that Tim is wet and open for him, _only_ him, and that he's filling his intended, his _mate_ , with his own release. That with each thrust he's pushing what's left from his earlier releases deeper into Tim's body, claiming him from the inside out and marking him as deep as anyone ever could.

Tim shakes through a smaller release, giving a breathless whine and going all but limp against him. He releases Tim's hair, pulling up and back and just taking hold of both sides of Tim's waist to pull him back into thrusts, and he truly feels _animalistic_ taking Tim like this, fast and hard and with little thought except for his own release. It's exhilarating and he doesn't bother to resist the feeling, doesn't bother to try and hold back the _snarl_ as he reaches his own peak and bears Tim down into the bed, fingers clenching down on smaller hips.

He all but collapses to the side afterwards, breathing hard and feeling utterly drained. Tim shifts into his side, leg pushing back between his and he manages a protesting groan.

"I— I cannot," he breathes. "You are… _insatiable_."

Tim gives an equally breathless laugh against his shoulder. "No, no more. Get beneath the blankets, my treasure. You need sleep."

He obeys, and Tim blows out the single candle — nearly just a puddle of wax at this point — and curls up mostly on top of him. Then a deceptively strong hand curls around his wrist, bringing his hand down and he gives another soft groan as it’s pressed up against Tim's heat, two fingers sinking easily inside. Tim's fingers massage at his wrist, and his intended gives a satisfied sigh and relaxes into him.

"Tim—” he starts, and the dragon hushes him.

"It feels good; leave them there and go to sleep." Tim tilts, trapping his hand between that wet heat and the solidity of his own thigh, and then lets go of his wrist to let that hand rest in the center of his chest instead. "I just want to share the satisfaction of what you've done to me, of how _wet_ I feel with what you've given me. Rest, my treasure."

His breath comes out slightly shaky, and he shivers at Tim's words. But he lifts his other hand, clasping it over the one Tim has on his chest and simply closing his eyes, letting himself give in to the exhaustion in his bones.

"As you wish, beloved.”

* * *

“You knew,” he accuses over the table at lunch, glaring at his father over the spread of dishes.

It’s the first time he’s left his room the entire day, thanks to Tim sending the servant sent to wake them running, and the lazy heat of their shared bed. Tim had coaxed him into another round, this time slow and exploratory in a way they hadn’t tried the night before. Then more sleep, and afterwards a bath that he’d woken and found already ready, which had given him a new understanding of exactly how tired he’d been, to miss a servant slipping in and out of the room — probably with Tim watching the whole time — to fill it.

One rather indulgent luxury he’s discovered is that by the very virtue of his existence, Tim keeps water hot long after it should be cold. They’d only left the water after Tim had pushed his hand back between his thighs and rode that to another climax. Somehow, before a second timid servant had knocked to tell them it was time for lunch, he’d ended up with his mouth between Tim’s thighs too, discovering that he very much likes how his beloved tastes.

He can still taste it on the back of his tongue, and Tim’s chair is drawn close, his beloved leaning heavily into his side and apparently satisfied for the moment. Incredible though that seems to him now.

His father looks up, meeting his gaze, glancing to Tim, and then answering, “Yes.”

Jason and Dick pause in their meals, confusion more obvious on his middle brother’s face than on his eldest’s, but neither of them flat out say anything. Mildly surprising, considering Jason’s propensity to comment on anything and everything, usually sarcastically.

He keeps his father’s gaze for a moment, considering all the different things he probably should be feeling — irritation at being sold to a dragon, for one thing — but has to simply settle on, “Thank you, Father.”

“You’re welcome,” his father says, with a small smile.

“Woah,” Jason starts, as both him and his father go back to their meals, “knew _what?_ I didn’t know there was _anything_ that could get the brat to say ‘thank you.’ What magical stunt did you pull?”

“Jason,” their father warns, with a pointed glance.

“What? It’s a totally valid question and you know it.”

“He wasn’t objecting to the _question_ , Jason,” Dick points out, elbowing their brother in the ribs with absolutely no subtlety.

He glances down at Tim as the two of them bicker back and forth, and the look in his beloved’s eyes slides in the direction of playful. Tim sighs, shifting a bit closer to him but lifting his head just enough to draw in a breath and exhale _flame_ up into the air.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Jason nearly shouts, jerking back so fast from the table that the chair falls over with him. Dick’s reaction is only slightly less impressive, in that he flails and yelps, but doesn’t fall over.

“Language,” his father says idly, hardly even looking up from his food.

Tim just laughs.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So, this is not part of the main storyline of this, but it was such a good idea I had to include it, even though it didn't manage to work itself into the main story in any way that actually fit. It is pretty much entirely gratuitous; enjoy!

"I’m thinking of adorning you," Tim tells him one night, murmuring it in his ear as they lie tangled in the blankets of their bed.

He slides his fingers through his beloved's hair, turning his head to hold Tim a little closer to him. "I thought I was already adorned," he answers, thinking of the choker that's taken up permanent residence around his neck, the ring on his finger, and the silver and emerald arm cuffs that Tim takes such joy in sliding onto his lower arms every morning.

Tim's hand strokes up his chest, with a noncommittal noise. "I guess… It just doesn't feel like _enough_."

"You just enjoy having all your treasure in the same place," he points out, not quite willing to react to the touches. Tim's already worn him out tonight, and he knows if he gives any sign that he can be roused, he'll find himself using his hands or tongue to bring his partner off again.

"True," Tim admits, shifting up a bit and finding the lobe of his ear with teeth and the flicker of a tongue. Despite himself, he gives a small sigh of pleasure at the feeling. "I want to pierce these," his beloved whispers, the hand on his chest sliding sideways and finding the pebble of one of his nipples, "and _definitely_ these. Hang jewels from them to match the rest."

He pries his eyes open at that, frowning just a little bit as he tilts to look down at Tim. "That sounds painful."

"Not enough to stop you," is the immediate counter, and the flash of Tim's teeth is bright in the darkness as his beloved smiles up at him. "It'll make you so _sensitive_." A thumb rubs over his nipple, smoothing it out so that Tim can tease it into a hard bud all over again, and he blows out a long breath and shifts into the touch, clenching his hand in Tim's hair.

Which is how he finds himself, the next night, pressed back against the wood of his headboard as Tim straddles his lap, both of them entirely nude. He's hard, as pretty much always happens when he's around a nude Tim, and he can feel the wetness of his beloved against him because Tim is excited at the idea of what he's agreed to. He wants little more than for Tim to shift, lift a bit, and sink down onto him, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's being saved as a reward. Especially considering the way Tim's shifting in tiny little rocks of motion, even as his hands work.

He keeps his hands on Tim's waist, watching his beloved heat a fairly thick needle in the flame of the candle, fingers _also_ in the flame but being a dragon apparently comes with a certain immunity to heat. The other hand is around the back of his neck for now, squeezing rhythmically to soothe away the idea that he's about to have a needle pushed through his skin.

When the needle's heated to Tim's satisfaction, it gets waved around until the glow's faded from the metal, and then Tim is leaning in, gently turning his head. He swallows as the lobe of his ear is carefully pinched and drawn out, tenses up until there's a brush of lips against his jaw.

"Relax," Tim whispers, before there's a sharp prick at his ear and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. It's a minor pain, just one sharp burst like a scratch, and he finds himself easing at the realization that it really _is_ a simple thing.

He stays carefully still, feeling Tim's breath on his skin, at the feeling of the needle sliding out the back of his ear, a difference in texture making him realize that the metal now hooked through his ear must be the earring itself. There's an unfamiliar click and snap of metal, quiet but so close to his ear that it comes in loud, and he feels metal press securely up against both the front and back of his ear, cool against his heating skin. Tim presses a kiss to his jaw, making a low, pleased sound and lingering close for a moment before pulling back. Only far enough to turn his head with a press of gentle fingers and bare his other ear though.

He anticipates the sharp sting this time and weathers it without a sound, holding just as carefully still for the replacement of the needle with the earring, and flexing his fingers on Tim's waist at the snap-click of the second earring being secured. Tim kisses the other side of his jaw, and he watches Tim's hand reach over, setting that needle down on the dresser as his beloved's mouth slips down his throat.

"Were you not going to—”

"In a bit," Tim cuts him off with, in a low, slightly strained voice. "Just once. Just once before I do the rest."

He pulls Tim in by the grip on his waist, lifting him a couple inches. "With you it is _never_ just once, beloved. Are you sure?"

"It can _wait_ ," Tim breathes, and then his beloved is shifting down and getting the right angle with the ease of practice, sinking down onto him as he originally wanted, as he _still_ wants.

He gasps at the feeling, still an initial shock even after their weeks together, but there's no time to adjust before Tim is moving, riding him hard and fast and pressing close so his erection is pressed between their stomachs with each rise and fall. He wraps his arms around Tim's back, digging nails into his beloved's skin the way he knows Tim likes, dragging them down either side of his spine until Tim arches harder against him and cries out, teeth showing.

"Do you like it that much?" he manages to ask, breathless and muffled against Tim's jaw.

Tim gives a quiet cry into his ear, one hand curled tight in his hair and the other pressed against his side. "You're as much my treasure as the jewels," Tim gasps back. "Seeing you in them is — _ah_ — perfect. All _mine_."

"So you would—” He has to pause, groan and tighten his grip to stabilize. "You would like me dressed in nothing but jewels?"

Tim freezes up for a moment, stuttering to a halt, and then grinds down with a jerky movement and a moaned, " _Yes_. Gods, _yes_. Trails of— of diamonds on your skin, making you _shine_ like the prize you are."

The way Tim reacts to that, the sounds he makes, suggest a fantasy playing inside his beloved's head, or at least some sort of captivating image. He busies his mouth along the line of his partner’s throat and shoulder, enjoying the taste of Tim’s skin between his teeth as he slides his hands over his beloved’s back to find the jut of his shoulderblades and the start of the markings that represent Tim’s wings. He keeps his touch gentler as he rakes his fingers down over those connections, causing just enough pain to have Tim arching into him and crying out, and not enough to truly _hurt_.

The skin is sensitive, but Tim enjoys a lot when high on pleasure, and has a certain enjoyment of roughness that he knows comes from the instincts of his beloved’s kind. The idea of being taken appeals to Tim, as opposed to the more common scenarios such as this one, where he may be inside his beloved but he is certainly not taking so much as _being_ taken. Even when he does satisfy that occasional desire for roughness, he’s not positive that he’s the one in control.

Luckily, that doesn’t bother him. It’s been clear from the official start of their relationship that he was Tim’s prize, not the other way around. Believing anything else would be lying to himself.

“Damian,” Tim whines against his ear. “Come on, _come on_.”

He pulls a hand away from Tim’s back, pushing it between their bodies so he can curl his fingers around his beloved. He doesn’t try and stroke, just lets Tim’s own movement provide the stimulation, fucking his fist as much as fucking him. In the best of ways, in a way that threatens his own precarious control, it feels like he’s being used.

Tim lasts a couple dozen more seconds, and then shouts as he arches, hand tugging at his hair and the other digging nails into his side, body contracting around him in strong waves that he can’t even begin to resist. He muffles his cry against Tim’s shoulder, fighting to keep the hand around his beloved loose against the tensing of the rest of his muscles. Tim moans, low and wanting, and given what he knows of his beloved it must be from the feeling of him releasing, deep inside.

He holds Tim to him as their breathing calms, and he slowly softens.

After a couple minutes, he tilts his head enough to be heard clearly and asks, “So, was once enough?”

Tim snorts and smacks him in the side, light enough that it only stings a little bit. “I wasn’t trying to _satisfy_ myself,” his beloved says, pushing back from him a bit. “I just wanted to take the edge off so I could focus again. Once _was_ enough, thanks.”

He groans when Tim pulls off of him, then sits lightly back down across his thighs, already reaching for the needle on the bedside table. He closes his eyes for a moment as Tim's other hand slides up his chest, finding one nipple and teasing it back to a hard bud before carefully pinching it and drawing it out a touch. He opens his eyes for that, peering down only for Tim to catch him in a kiss, distracting him.

"Breathe," Tim orders against his mouth. "Relax; it won't be that bad."

"How would you know?" he asks, in a whisper, and Tim only _smirks_.

He gasps at the sharp prick of pain, gritting his teeth a little bit at the strange, unnatural feeling of it. It's nothing he can't handle, Tim was absolutely right, but it's not a pain he's familiar with and it sets him on edge. At least until Tim kisses the side of his jaw, his neck, hair brushing his skin as the kisses trail over his skin. Soft presses of lips with the occasional graze of teeth.

When Tim pulls back, he looks down and finds the reddened peak of his nipple, and the thin silver ring hooked through it. There's a small gem hanging from it, what looks like a diamond, and when he shifts it taps against his chest in a way both completely bizarre and oddly fascinating. He swallows, lowering his hands from Tim's back to rest lightly on his beloved's thighs instead, letting out a slow breath as Tim smiles at him and then raises a hand to tease his other nipple up.

He keeps quiet, braces for the no longer unfamiliar feeling, and the second needle is a lot easier to ignore even though he still doesn't look down to see the actual slide of it. A strange little tug, and then he hears the needle tap down against the cup of the candle, and a half second later he's being dragged into a kiss, both of Tim's hands cradling his head and pulling him down into the hungry press of lips. He reacts automatically, squeezing Tim's thighs and shifting forward a bit only to feel the _tap_ of his new pieces of jewelry.

Tim gives a soft groan, pressing close to him even after breaking the kiss off. "You look good enough to _eat_ ," Tim murmurs against his lips, fingers sliding back to flex in his hair.

"I assume these will take more than a couple days to heal," he murmurs back. "I am going to be sore for our wedding day."

Tim laughs, and just answers, "I know."

"Was that part of your intention?"

Tim's smile is just a touch wicked, but then his beloved kisses him softly, and whispers, "Maybe I just want every person there to know that you're cared for. And mine."

He smirks. "Beloved, it is a _wedding_. They know exactly who I belong to."

"Hush," Tim orders. His beloved's hands tug a bit at his hair, body shifting in his lap with a little bit more purpose. "So, now I'm _definitely_ going to need more than one time."

"What a surprise," he teases, even as he slides his right hand off of his beloved's thigh and down between those legs, easily slipping fingers inside and rocking them up in the way he's learned will make Tim arch and sigh. "I suppose I can fulfill that need for you, beloved."


End file.
